


He Will Set Us Free

by Megxolotl, StarfallGalaxy



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Henry is a dad, Joey - Freeform, Multi, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, bendy is abused, cartoon logic, is a dick, it isnt, sammy is a self sacrificing idiot, this sounds like comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:06:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25740070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megxolotl/pseuds/Megxolotl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarfallGalaxy/pseuds/StarfallGalaxy
Summary: "Even if you give me words, nothing's going to be heard'Cuz I have no heart to feel, all I hear is in a blurFeeling numb in every gap, 'cuz the soul is what I lackAnd if nothing seems to changeThem I'll turn it all to black..."
Relationships: Allison Angel/Tom, Bendy & Henry Stein, Bendy & Sammy Lawrence, Henry Stein/Linda Stein, Sammy Lawrence/Norman Polk
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. Chapter 1

Despite what everyone thought, Sammy Lawrence was not a fool.

For instance, he knew that Wally Franks had dropped his keys in the waste bin of his office before everything became Hell in an inkwell. He knew that these keys would unlock HIS office, the Liar. And he knew, like most people, that Joey Drew had a bad habit of keeping secrets.

So here he was, looking at the note that so helpfully had pointed him downwards, making him slink past the Angel’s Nest and right to the Moat, armed with only a Bendy cutout as his flotation device.

Yeah. No way this would go wrong. 

The floatation device gave up more or less halfway. Sammy could feel his legs being pulled and sucked down as he waded his way across, giving an undignified shriek as the damn thing suddenly splintered and cracked as he’d suddenly found no ground to speak of under his boots. His full weight broke the cardboard in half, the tail end sinking slowly under as Sammy clutched the last remaining piece: the head.

“Well, that went… horribly wrong. Would look great in a cartoon, really.”

“Oh my Lord please end me.” Anything but  _ him _ . The “Creator”. Sammy wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating from the ink or not. That man hadn’t been to the studio in years, hadn’t he? Yeah...yeah, that was right…

Wasn’t it?

“Glad to see you too Samuel. Nice weather we’re having, don’t you think?”

No, only the original could be so irritating. Great. He bared his teeth at the blurry figure before him, narrowing his gold eyes at him. Even when he floated past, he kept his eyes trained on the man right until…

His back hit the stairs, making his body jolt and his head turn. When he turned back, the man was gone. He snarled again. Good riddance.

He turned to look up the stairs, the large black and sepia archway baring the GENT sign in bold. Above that, a smaller ink machine, this one puffing but nothing coming out, it’s chains swaying in the cold air of the ocean. The large nozzle of the ink machine towered over him, if he looked up he could see right into the dark abyss that led to the inky womb that he knew birthed most of...them. Sammy had been the exception. Giant pipes wound over and up all into the nozzle and it’s brick shell, pumping into the studio itself, giving life to them all.

...Mary would be a good name for her.

His legs were starting to feel like jelly… well, more than they already did. He started to try to climb the stairs, needing to basically crawl up them, shaking his legs to free himself of the excess ink, his tired legs feeling icky in the foreign ink, much thicker than his own.

He knocked politely on the nozzle, for good luck.

He played with the Bendy head between his fingers as he wandered into the long hallway belonging to the ink machine, looking fascination at the...new people it was so happily birthing. There was a Boris, almost fully formed but not yet conscious, he could see the muzzle itself slowly turning to white as he was completed. And a few Lost Ones...only one of which looking up at him...were quietly swaying in the glass cases, waiting for the ink to deem them ‘ready’ and send them the pipes that it used to let her children out in the world.

A wail snapped him out of his intrigue.

“Hello?” Sammy asked, proving to himself why he would be a horrible protagonist for a horror movie.

The wailing stopped abruptly, leaving the silence to be filled with the gurgles of ink. Ominous. Maybe this whole trip was a mistake.

Then a click and a murmur of a voice coming down the hallway…” It's simply awe-inspiring what one can accomplish with their-”

“Joey?” 

...a long, drawn out moan that sounded like a tired person trying to write his last note of a song before bed was his answer. Then the sound of something...someone...scraping across the floor.  **STUMP...** **_screeee_ ** **...STUMP...STUMP...STUMPSTUMP**

“To quote Wally, ‘I’m out of here’,” Sammy said, before turning tail and hiding between two of the glass coffins turned cribs. “Pleasedon’tfindmepleasedon’tfindmepleasedon’-”

A long, sharp edged shadow stretched past him, moving with each groan as it’s...hoof...stomped at something, stretching out like it was trying to reach for something. He wondered why it did not just use it’s hands. The thing tilted it’s head, and he could see it’s horns…

Horns?

Sammy glanced down at the head in his hands he’d been using as a shield, tilting his head at it. It couldn't have been, could it? Crescent shape...floating away from the neck...and that smile...

“...My Lord?” 

The figure’s head turned not unlike an owl’s. Or an old cartoon’s. The smile etched on by decades of drawings was looking more like a grimace. Sammy didn't let himself process that it was cast on the shadow as well, choosing instead to slink into view, and slowly scoot his way into the large room beyond the hallway…

He yelped when the audio log finally stopped talking with a loud 'click' and he was left to focus on the dark, inky figure before him. He was bone thin, a far cry from the pudgy little demon in the cartoons and cutouts. A long, whiplike demon tail twitched around him, it’s spade shaped tip resembling the nib of an ink pen. One leg ended in a blob like hoof, not a shoe, while the other was a naked human foot turned slightly inwards. Even the smile had been twisted, stitched at the corners of the large grin, right under some inky drips that hid his eyes. Slowly, the horned head lifted to meet Sammy’s eyes...

Bendy wasn't exactly sure what this thing before him was. It looked like a Joey, sounded like one, but was ink. And tiny. Tinier than Him, at least. And silent. It hadn't said a thing after that "My lord?" 

Not that Bendy knew what those squeaks meant. Joey was always squeaking in his ear, even out that wretched rectangle thing he would have loved to smash under his claws. The ink demon growled, shifting his chained hands uncomfortably, yanking on them and making a little bit of dust fall from the ceiling. It barely registered that that hurt anymore, his circulation having gone numb long ago. How long had it been? 

"Oh... You are t-taller than I imagined...my Lord…" Sammy stuttered, clutching the cutout Bendy head. "And...thinner. Though I suppose the film reel adds ten pounds...heh."

Bendy tilted his head at him, his smile turning more to a frown than Joey would have liked. What was this thing here to do? Was it going to hurt him? He bared his teeth when it got closer, lashing out as far as the chains allowed with his mouth nearly snapping shut on its face.

The thing scurried back a few places, cowering. Bendy could smell fear in its scent. Good. It should be scared of him. If it was scared, maybe it wouldn't use the Sharptooth on him. His bad leg lifted up in response, the demon whining at the protest his knee had on it. Dammit, he'd been standing so long…

His Lord was tall. Scarily tall. Sammy wasn't sure how to feel about that. Concern however took the front seat when his Lord's leg crumpled from under him, sending the hulking form sprawled on the floorboards. The extremely old, prone to splintering floorboards. Without much reasoning behind it, he rushed to his Lord's side, ignoring the warning growl sent his way. 

_ This is the dumbest way to die.  _ Some part of his brain told him. He gave that part a solid middle finger before crouching to become a makeshift crutch. 

Bendy whimpered as his sore arm muscles were eased free of his weight, not being the soul supporter as the tiny thing shouldered some of it. Ah, that was so much be-

The wood under them gave a concerning  **_SNAP._ **

They both only had time to send a short curse to Joey before they fell, making Bendy grunt as his muscles were pulled further, now supporting  _ two  _ people’s weight. 

“Ah! Um...It-it’s fine, my Lord, I’m sure I can just drop down and…” Sammy looked below him to see...nothing. Just a long, sticky drop into the ink moat. He clung tighter around where he was hanging onto his lord’s waist.“Nevermind.”

Bendy gave a noncommittal grunt. Didn’t this thing understand that he couldn’t understand it? He should kick it and let it fall, he thought bitterly, but sighed. He was a Good Guy, right? Good Guys didn’t let dumb creatures fall, no matter how annoying they were.

“Um...My Lo-AHHHH!” Sammy hung on tight as Bendy started swinging back and forth, going faster and faster. “Wait! I can’t hold o-”

Sammy went flying, landing face first safely on the non-destroyed floorboards. A wheezy laugh that vaguely resembled the cartoon equivalent’s laugh was his only confirmation that that had been  _ deliberate _ .

"Great aim, m'lord," he grunted. In moments like this, he was glad ink seemed to be less susceptible to pain. 

Bendy watched him,waiting for him to scurry back the way he came. After all, Joey and the big scary Joey that was always with him never stayed around that long after they were done. But it seemed that this new squeaky Joey had nothing on old Joey…

With a squelch, Sammy pried himself from the floorboards. Great, now what? He needed to get Bendy down but how? He wasn’t sure if his Lord could wade through ink…

If they were chains, there had to be a key, right? He could see a lock right on the cuffs that were currently keeping his Lord from plummeting into the ink. So where had Joey kept the keys?

Back at his office? Oh, but if he left to go there then his Lord might think he was abandoning him...

“Um...Okay...uh...I will figure this out, my Lord! Don’t you worry!” Sammy mumbled, pacing back and forth. “Alright...um...I know it wasn’t on Wally’s keyring…”

Bendy gave a heaving moan of pain, his wrists were killing him. Not to mention the weird tingles that went right along his spines, dancing around them and making them raise. That...felt familiar somehow. Like some sort of fuzzy memory just at the edge of his mind...in the haze of static and cartoons…

Cartoons.

_ Ink. _

That was right. The black stuff that came from him, that he was made of. He used to be near the stuff all of the time, in the Before Joey hadn’t abandoned him yet. He still saw Joeys back then but only briefly, like...like...the large Joey who defended him. Let him near the pipes full of Mother’s Ink. Mother’s heartbeat, his only companion in this cage, thrummed through him as he felt strength return to him.

And as he felt the pull to do  _ something.  _ Like snap these cuffs off. Make Joey  _ hurt _ . Or...or...maybe…

Sammy paused as he felt the rumble, sinking down to the floor immediately worried that the garbage dump of a studio had finally decided to fall apart on them at last. It would probably be a fitting conclusion for the crooked empire to topple over. Nevertheless, Sammy knew he couldn’t die yet. Not this way. His soul wouldn’t be free this way.

He gasped as he felt an instant chill swamp his ink self and seize his heart in it’s claws, yanking it almost to a full stop when he noticed that long, dark tendrils were creeping up the walls like ivy, up and up and up. They engulfed the lamp, plunging the room in utter blackness until he could see nothing but he could  _ hear… _

A bubbling noise, coming from below. His Lord’s growly breathing...the sinking sensation that Something was happening that he couldn’t See.

Then the shadows started to retreat, first unwrapping themselves from the light and then slowly creeping down the wall. Back over Sammy…

And right towards his Lord, who seemed to be as confused as the musician was. 

“My Lord!”

Bendy wasn’t sure what happened that day. Just that he suddenly was hit in the gut by the full force of a stupid Prophet who had decided he was in danger at possibly the Worst second in history, making his arms stretch comically before his hands slipped  _ right through  _ the cuffs, the two of them going flying into a wall and falling into a heap. The shadows shrinking and sailing right underneath the Prophet’s nonexistent nose to retreat into their master.

And that was how Sammy Lawrence met The Lord Bendy and became his Prophet, which no one dared to question forever afterwards.


	2. Bendy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry passed the braincell to Bendy, whereas Sammy still has sheep wool instead of common sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again. From the top.

"So my Lord, what are we going to do today?"

On most days, Bendy would have made some snide remark about the joyless studio or one of its many inhabitants to his cohort. Most days, Sammy would prance around behind him, shoving candles or cutouts everywhere or writing on the walls and chatting about whatever it was he thought of at the time. He went on long rants about chocolate cake sometimes and the ugly pump switches. Or the audiotape or Lost Ones.

But today marked the beginning of The End. And Bendy couldn't let a normal day happen, lest the Angel take the Prophet.

"Sammy…" Bendy said it with practiced ease unlike the first time, where it was stumbled and hurried as an excuse. "I want ya to stay in the musical department."

"My Lord?" Sammy stopped putting his candles up mid-lighting them.

"It's been too long since I heard a new song, Sammy." The excuse got Sammy every time, in every loop. “Make me something to play over the loud speaker, eh? I am the dancing devil, aren’t I?”

The Prophet's eyes lit up in delight as he did a clumsy salute, the ink of his hand producing a small splash where it hit the cardboard cutout. 

"I won't fail you, my Lord!" 

If all went well, it'd be the last time Bendy failed his Prophet, “Yeah. I know ya won’t. Ya never do...just remember to sneak up behind people if ya gonna make any...sacrifices." 

Sammy nodded frantically, bowing as he backed into one of the large cracks in the studio. 

Bendy's publicly never-ending smile dropped as soon as the inky prophet left. His horns flattened, sorrowful and thoughtful. Now...to the biggest matter at hand.

It was a sore subject, his birth. 

Created by the ink machine with only ink and no soul, Bendy remembered those old cartoons like they were his real memories. The days spent in Boris's shamble house, building snowmen, going to the movies with Alice and dealing with the Butcher Gang...those were all happy memories. Happy memories...that slowly turned into dark and twisted ones the longer he was trapped in the large ink machine's inner walls. 

Memories of his limbs being chopped off, being locked away, having to watch the old days over and over and over again. Of people screaming at his appearance, of Joey Drew telling Tom to keep him "locked up".

The ink demon shuddered, his spines raising with uncomfortable thoughts as he slowly made his way toward the Machine. He crawled up on her paint worn surface, letting his legs dangle over the edge as he tugged on the chain that would start their descent. And now, the old man who had let that happen to him. Who left him for dead.

Henry Stein.

Oh, how he hated Henry Stein.

Hate was what kept him alive all those years, before he found Sammy and the Others. He longed to make his “creator” feel even a fraction of 

his agony. Make him afraid and desperate again and again and again, each cycle anew, to rip his hope away from him, as he realized his role as plaything again and again and again… maybe he’d let Malice take him, this time, she was good at that kind of thing.

It was the only joy, besides Sammy’s music, that he got some days. 

He pulled his feet up from dangling, choosing to instead lay on the machine as it slowly traveled downwards. He could feel the pull that always told him when Henry was near get stronger. Finally, the machine stopped, he slipped off and melted into the dark puddles. 

At least he could take a nap before Henry got here…

Henry Stein, on the other hand, had just closed the door to the old studio.

“Alright, Joey. I’m here. Let’s see if we can find what you wanted me to see.”

Somehow, that simple phrase brought a wave of dejavu crashing over Henry. It felt like he had already lived this moment, a hundred times before. 

Shaking his head, he set off in the studio. It was definitely… Gloomier than when he left. Gloopier too, if the stench of ink and the vague sloshing noises were of any indication. 

If it was the renovation Joey called him for, he was disappointed already. 

On the topic… Where the hell was Joey? 

* * *

Cardboard cutouts leaned against the wall with less than welcoming grins. Papers were scattered, some half drowned in ink and others just lying everywhere like someone had been frantically searching through them. The ceiling was even falling apart, boards coming loose from the ceiling and falling. It looked like a shell of its former self, void of any of the constant chatter and shouts to be quiet or sounds of Wally, the studio's lone janitorial staff, sweeping everything in sight. ...including some… grumpier employees.

Henry huffed, snorting at the memory of their faces. God, it had been so long. Were any of the old gang even still around?

...he wondered if his desk was still there.

Turning right, his eyes widening with awe, he saw that it was. 

Bathed in the light of a single bulb, was Henry's desk. His name was even still etched in there, the 'h' longer than necessary because his hand had slipped. On the side, a poster leaned over it, pronouncing the first successful cartoon Sillyvision had ever made. "Little Devil Darlin'", a masterpiece. In the shadow of the desk loomed a mock cutout of the cartoon's main star. But on the desk...oh, he never realized he actually missed that face and its fond memories.

"I wasted so much time in this chair…"

His fingers glossed over the brittle paper, tracing the odd crescent head that tilted toward him like a child asking for a head pat. The small smile the face sported looked like it was welcoming him home, its black pie eyes staring up at his creator, happy to see that the old man, his old man, had returned.

"Hello Bendy…" Henry sighed, tapping his creation in the forehead with one finger. "Do you know where Joey is?"

He glanced at the sticky note. A red NO. Well, there was his answer. 

Reluctantly leaving his desk, he marched down the hall to a bigger animator's room than he remembered.

"Looks like they knocked down a wall or two after I left. Guess it took a few people to replace me…" He allowed himself a tiny smile at that. Take that, Drew.

He wandered back to the reel sign to watch it spin, play with a projector, go back to his desk and doodle a few things. ..still no sign of Joey. Was the man late or something? He couldn't have missed him. Or misread the letter.

He took in out of his back pocket again, adjusting his glasses. Nope, "come back to the old studio."

He leaned the chair back. Just like Joey to forget or be impossibly late. Fine, let Joey be late. He'd find it on his own.

He continued down the halls, marvelling at the number teen vandals had been dealing on the old place. Hell, they'd even managed to turn on the gramophones.

“Ink Output?” Henry asked, looking at the sign on the wall. That...had not been a thing while he worked here. Come to think of it, now that he was forced to hop over all of these black pipes...NONE of this had been the same as it was when he was there.

...god, did he feel old.

The terrace that overlooked the large, dark, gaping, square hole in the middle of the floor was creaky as it supported the old man’s weight on it. Henry prayed that it didn’t collapse under him as he looked at the chains that led down. Big chains to haul something up.

Something connected to the dry cell power box before him.

"Let's see what you're hiding down there, old friend."

Henry felt his mouth drop open as the chains hauled up what had to be a very intimidating machine, which blew off steam so thick that it looked like cartoon puffs of smoke. 'The large nozzle looks almost like a nose.' The animator in his mind giggled, 'It'd be so funny if the cogs became eyes…with eyelashes!'

Henry laughed a little, wondering what it was for and how it turned on. Surely it was this big for a reason, right? It was big enough to fit whole people inside…

He wandered back to his desk and to the side, away from the door. Was there an on switch? It would be in here, right? If there was…

A plank fell and he jumped. God, did he feel old.

He avoided it, picking the right hallway. Pedestals…

What the actual hell was Henry supposed to do with a pump switch and some pedestals?

"Daddy's home~" Bendy purred, watching Henry from one of the blocked rooms. Some chunks had fallen out, creating excellent peepholes for him to look through. He spared a fleeting thought for the integrity of the building (longer lasting than the company's, although that bar was well underground), before returning to his hobby of Henry watching. 

Which quickly turned into Sammy rescuing via shepherd crook. For once, he was glad to have a tail, model be damned. 

Sammy was not of the same opinion, if the surprised "GLACK" he produced as his ink was squeezed through the wall was of any indication. .

"What are you doing? I told you to stay in the music room!"

"Well I'm not just letting an usurper waltz in here…"

"Sammy. Music Room. Now."

"What the?"

Oh, Henry was back. Drats. . And he was one step closer to awakening the Ink Machine. Bendy impatiently shoved Sammy away from him, muttering a ‘don’t touch me’, and went back to spying. Sammy huffed before melting downwards, presumably dripping back to his music hall. Good, he’d be safe there.

Ker-chunk!

Henry had one chance, Bendy thought, the ink running down his spines and eyes, creating the thick wall he usually preferred people to see on his face. One chance not to run away and hide...just like everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... Oops?


End file.
